I wake up back in my room; but this time I’m lying face down on a gurney instead of the floor. My left fist is clenched into a ball; so I loosen it enough to feel with my thumb and confirm that my wedding ring is still there.
“It’s still on your finger,” the doctor’s voice says. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it. I swear all I have to do is look at your hand when you’re unconscious, and you’ll make a fist.”
“What are you doing?” I ask. “I can barely feel any pain. I told you I don’t want painkillers.”
“The bandages themselves have a mild topical anesthetic in them; but don’t worry. You’ll feel plenty of pain,” he replies. “It’s the middle of the night, you’ve been out cold for about twelve hours. Right now, I’m changing the dressings on your back. I covered you with artificial skin and pumped fluids into you. You were pretty ripped up, but the wounds were fairly superficial - considering what they did to you. Only a few cuts penetrated all the way through the dermis to the subcutaneous. I got the deepest ones with a laser cauterizer, and patched up your wrists again.”
“When will I feel pain?” I ask.
“Every time you move for the next month.”
I try to lift my head, and find out that the doctor is correct.
“I’ve been given very specific instructions,” the doctor continues. “Your wounds need to be closed; but Henry wants every mark to remain visible - preferably bright red, because it shows up well on camera. I’m afraid it’s going to leave some nasty scars.
“Jesus kept the scars,” I say.
The door clangs open, and a guard enters.
“Henry says time is up, doc. Remove the I.V., and he gets no more food or water until further notice.”
The doctor removes the I.V.; then leaves the room.
“… and no more comfy bed,” the guard says. “Get up!”
“I don’t think I can, without passing out,” I say.
He walks over and claps his hand down hard on my back. The explosion of pain makes me wish I’d moved a little faster. I manage to sit up, but I feel my head start to wobble with dizziness. I instinctively start to lie back down, but the guard hits me so hard on the back that I fall off the gurney. Thankfully, I land face first in a heap rather than on my back.
My robe is on the floor beside me; so I endure the pain of pulling it over myself as a blanket, and curl up on my side, in a fetal position. Something feels wrong with my face. I reach up and touch my chin and realize that Henry’s “Jesus beard” is still stuck to me. It’s a strong adhesive, but I tug until I remove it - causing a great deal of pain from the movement and the loss of some skin on my face. I count removing it as victory, before I pass out again.
*****
Sometime later in the night, I open my eyes at the sound of the door opening. I’m having a hard time lifting my head; so my view is limited to a pair of very high heels - filled with very shapely feet and ankles - walking towards me.
“Professor, you don’t look so good,” a familiar voice says.
“Jocie?” I say. “Jocie, if you’re here, does that mean I’m …”
“Dead?” she completes my thought. “Not yet, Cephas - although I can see how you would make that mistake. After all, can it really be called heaven, if I’m not in it?”
“If I’m not dead, then how are you here?”
“How should I know? You’re the professor, and I’m just a movie star. All I know is that I’m here to tell you to hang on. You’re winning, Cephas! Every minute that passes is a small victory. You just need to hang on for a little while longer.”
“I don’t feel like I’m winning. It hurts, Jocie. It hurts so much. Sometimes the pain helps me understand Him better; but sometimes it makes me ask: ‘Why did He do it? Why did He hang on a cross and take our sins upon Himself?’ We didn’t deserve His sacrifice.”
“Of course we didn’t deserve His sacrifice. Isn’t that the point? He died a horrible, painful death to illustrate that sin cause’s pain and death.”
“I don’t know how much longer I can go on Jocie.”
I feel like I’m going to drift off again.
“I never got to kiss you the way I should have, Cephas,” Jocie says. “I wanted to kiss you in all the wrong ways - and for all the wrong reasons. Now I’m finally going to kiss you.”
I feel a warm, gentle kiss on my forehead. The warmth seems to spread all over my face; then down my neck; and eventually throughout my entire body.
“That should help you hold on for a while.”
Despite the pain, I turn my body so I can see Jocie’s face. Her enhancements are all gone. She has the natural proportions she was born with, and even her hair color is different. By some measures, she looks quite plain.
“Jocie. You look so beautiful. It’s the most beautiful I’ve ever seen you.”
My eyes start to tear up.
“Don’t you cry!” she says, even as a tear runs down her face. “You can’t afford to lose a drop of water. You’re the only one who ever looked beneath all of the plastic, and still saw me as beautiful.”
“I’m not the only one. Christ always saw you that way.”
“How I love you, Cephas Paulson, and - oh, how I envy Martha,” she says.
“I love you too, Jocie. Thanks for stopping by. I feel much better now.”
“Any time, Professor,” she winks an eye, as she says it.
She begins to fade out of my vision, but I continue to stare until she is gone. My eyes are wide open; so I’m pretty sure I was not asleep. Have the pain and dehydration caused me to hallucinate? Or was she really here?
*****
I don’t bother to look at the clock when the screen starts blaring. It’s precisely nine o’clock. In one hour, I’ll be chained to the posts again, waiting for whatever torture Henry has in store for me today.
The news from McIntosh isn’t good. During the night, a large group of people who had been baptized by Michael marched to the perimeter and surrendered. None of them look like they’re from Four. The footage shows them lined up and receiving a dose of Henry’s vaccine, as the price they must pay to leave town and get safe water to drink. The screen then cuts to a shot that I’m sure was not seen by the public. As the last of the group receives vaccine, it begins to rain. It comes slowly at first, but quickly turns into a downpour. Many of the “newly marked” can be seen on their knees in the mud, crying. Souls lost.
There’s another intercepted message from Zip. Through dry and cracked lips she reports to Hank that - despite the number of people who left, and the rain they’ve collected - they’re now down to just five days of drinking water.
Zip has somehow accelerated the pace of sneaking people out of McIntosh. Even so, I don’t know if I can last five days for her, Lord.
The next video is a surprise. Garai is on a morning show that I recognize as coming out of Denver. The man who has hidden himself - and Christianity - in the shadows, is sitting in a studio giving an interview.
The hostess of the show is a highly-enhanced woman named Kelli whose age I could only guess. She explains to the audience that Garai speaks for several million “hidden Christians” who are seeking resolution. She then gives Garai an open microphone.
“The first thing I want to say, Kelli, is that, as the leader of the New Christians, we do not condone the actions of radical elements, such as Cephas Paulson, the man named Michael, or the organization Four. The New Christians are your friends and neighbors. We do the same things you do, and like the same things you like, and are not a danger to anyone. We’ve moved on from many old-fashioned notions, such as absolute purity and chastity, because we’ve seen that such ideas make Christians seem judgmental and preachy to outsiders. I, for one, visited a nice sex club here in Denver last night, and had a wonderful time.”
“So you would support the people who left McIntosh, South Dakota last night?” Kelli prompts on cue.
“Absolutely, Kelli. The New Christians would, of course, open our arms to all the brave people who finally saw the radicals for what they are, and turned their backs on them. In fact, I would like to personally offer everyone who leaves McIntosh a copy of the ‘New Christian Faith Guide.’”
Garai smiles and the screen switches to picture of the new guide. At the bottom, it says it will only be offered electronically - no paper copies allowed. It does not say “Holy Bible” on the cover.
“That’s a bold move, Garai, as is just being here,” Kelli replies. “Not long ago, the government labelled anyone holding Christian beliefs as a “cultist.” What’s changed?”
“I have met many times with Henry Portman, and I want to tell my followers - and all Christians - that the government is as eager as we are to find an end to conflict. As New Christians, we will need to temper ourselves to comply with the First Amendment limitations on expression of faith, but we’ll do so with government advice and oversight. As a matter of fact, Henry has even offered government support in editing and publishing our new Faith Guide.”
I bet he has…
*****
At exactly nine-fifty, the door opens. It’s time for more torture.
“On your feet,” the guard barks.
It’s the guy whose knuckles are cut up from beating me. He must have the day shift.
I manage a low crouch, like a walking fetal position. While I was sleeping, the bandages dried out and stuck to the wounds; so straightening causes them to pull at the cuts, causing unbearable pain. We begin the journey back to the chamber, but the pace is much slower than usual, as I’m forced to walk hunched over.
“What’s your name?” I ask the guard with cut knuckles.
“What do you care?”
“I’ve been praying for you. It makes a better prayer, if I know your name.”
“Danny.”
I start to laugh.
“Quit laughing. What’s so funny about my name?”
“Your name is Daniel. It’s a Christian name that means ‘God is my judgment’,” I reply. “When you were whipping me, at times it felt like God’s judgment.”
“You must have had a few choice words for God,” Danny says.
“Of course I did - but not the choice words you may think. I thanked him for every lash. Paul felt it was an honor to be deemed worthy of being tortured in Jesus’ name; so I took it as an honor. I also spent some time praying for you.”
“Praying for me? Really? What did God say when you were praying for me?”
“He told me that no matter how much I wanted to, I wasn’t allowed to kick you in the groin all those times you left yourself wide open for it. He said that your children will make better choices than you; so I’m not allowed to hurt them before they’re born.”
I laugh.
“Check the videos, Daniel. There were many times that I could have ended your ability to father children.”
After that, we walk slowly, in silence. They don’t prod me along like they have in the past; so we’re late arriving in the studio. Henry is already on air, stalling for time.
“Where have you been?” Janet snaps.
“Look at him,” Daniel says. “His knuckles are dragging on the floor like an ape. He couldn’t stand up, so it was as fast as he could go.”
“Get him out there,” Janet says. “There are one point three billion viewers who are looking for the star of the show.”
As we cross the stage, the picture switches to me.
“Cephas, it’s good to see you; but I’m very disappointed that you made the audience wait.” Henry says and claps his hand down on my back. I try to suppress it, but I let out a loud whimper.
“The bandages all dried in his cuts. I think he’ll pass out if he tries to stand up,” Daniel says to Henry.
Henry shoots Daniel a look that makes it clear his job does not include speaking, and motions the guards to take me to the posts. When we get there, they each take an arm to stretch me out and force me to stand. Their touches are almost gentle, and they each take a deep breath, as I feel their muscles tighten to begin pulling my arms outward. They know the agony it’s going to cause me, so they’re are hesitating.
“No, Daniel. I can feel that you don’t want to do it. I won’t make you do it to me.”
I say it loud enough for the cameras to pick up, with tears in my eyes for my torturers.
“I won’t inflict that pain upon your hearts,” I say.
Daniel and the other guard release my arms.
“This…”
I grunt as I begin to straighten myself, my body shaking at the effort.
“Is mine…”
I grimace, and growl loudly as I continue to move inch by agonizing inch, while the bandages pull and rip at my wounds.
“… to bear.”
I look at the screen and see the camera has a close-up of my face. Anyone with a heart should see the fire in my eyes.
The guards watch in fascination, because I’m trembling in pain - but refusing to stop. I swear Daniel looks as if he’s about to cry, while I raise my arms in front of me, like I’m offering hugs. I then slowly stretch them out to my sides, until my wrists are in place at the posts. I nod to my guards, as if giving them permission to chain me in place. While they’re putting on the shackles, Daniel’s eyes meet mine and I nod down to his feet, which are again spread apart wide enough that he’s open to attack.
“Close your feet - but leave your mind open, Daniel.”
I whisper the words to just him. He closes his feet, but I’ll have to pray that he takes the latter advice as well.
“I don’t see what all the fuss is about,” Henry says. “Take the bandage off.”
The guards look at one another and then at me. I nod, and they take positions behind me.
“The faster the better," I say, and clench my teeth.
The interlocking rolls of artificial skin have essentially formed into a single large bandage covering my entire back. They each find a corner near my shoulders, where they can peel it up gently and get a good handhold.
“On three,” Daniel whispers. “One-two-three…”
They pull mercifully quickly; but even so, I let out a shriek, and the pain drives me to my knees. Much the same thing was done to Jesus. When the Romans dressed Him in a purple robe and mocked Him as the King of the Jews, the blood from His scourging would have soaked and dried into the robe. When they were done, they ripped it off His back - tearing open His wounds and causing a new round of excruciating pain.
“It doesn’t look so bad to me,” Henry says.
The live shot on the screen is of my back, which is crossed with ugly red welts and cuts. The deeper ones have been reopened on the surface and are bleeding or oozing; but the doctor is correct, in that it looks much worse than it is. Having my back in the open air again is actually something of a relief.
“I’ve heard the fish heads are calling my life-saving vaccine the ‘Mark of the Beast,’” Henry says. “From where I’m standing, it looks like it’s Christianity that marks you for life.”
Henry smirks.
“And unlike my life-giving vaccine, it looks like the marking Cephas chose to receive has missed some spots. Why don’t we take care of that right now?”
Henry nods to Daniel, who hands the whip to the other guard. He takes it uncomfortably and walks behind me.
I stand tall, with my eyes straight ahead. The first blow lands high on my shoulders, which was indeed a spot that didn’t hurt - until now.
“Speaking of the vaccine, today we’re having a lesson in the history of the Paulson family,” Henry begins. “Cephas won’t talk about Christianity, but perhaps he’ll talk about his father - the known conspirator to mass murder.”
I can’t keep my eyes forward after such an accusation, I have to turn and look at Henry with disbelief.
“James Paulson was a longtime government employee, as well as a secret fish head cultist and conspirator. I have here his secret manifesto, which he hid by placing it on paper.”
Henry produces my father’s notebook.
“It’s all in here - mixed with fish head ranting and gibberish. It was James Paulson who ordered the re-creation of the genetic toxin used in the Final Holy War, and then altered it. He plotted to vaccinate Christians and kill anyone who wouldn’t convert, by releasing the toxin.”
As he speaks, select parts of the notebook are flashing by on the screen, with incriminating parts highlighted and exonerating parts obscured. Henry motions to the guard, and I’m whipped on cue. Although it seems to be a lighter blow than it could have been, landing a whip on a fresh wound quickly brings me back to the pain point where we left off yesterday.
“They tried to keep it a secret, but it was even a Paulson family idea to poison the world through its water supplies.”
Henry nods and I’m whipped again. Although it’s another light hit, this one falls on the deepest of the old wounds, making me cry out.
The screen demonstrates that Henry also found the words “distribute it through the water” pressed into the blank page.
The audience counter continues to soar, with each strike of the lash.
“Harder than that!” Henry yells. “Whip him like his family history deserves.”
The next lash lands with a crack, and a groan from me, as I lose my footing. I try to stand back up, but I can’t find the strength.
“Do you admit that you’re from a family of mass murderers?” Henry asks.
“It’s true that it was my father’s hand that wrote ‘distribute it through the water.’”
I sound delirious even to myself.
“That sounds like a confession to me, folks,” Henry concludes.
“O Father, Lord of heaven and earth, thank you for hiding the truth from those who think themselves so wise and clever, and for revealing it to the childlike,” I say.
I smile, as I quote from Matthew, with my head now wobbling.
“What does that mean?” Henry asks.
“In the water, in the water, in the water,” I babble the words from the edge of consciousness.
“You’ve still missed some spots,” Henry says to the guard holding the whip.
The whipping starts again. Even the act of crying out takes more effort than I can manage.
“Care to also confess that Jesus was a fraud?” Henry asks.
With a slight smile, I croak the words directly into the camera, as the second day of scourging continues.
“Not today,” I say.